The Princess And The Traveler
by Moonlighter
Summary: Wherein Crystal and Pietro first meet and fall madly in love. Because it had to have happened, right? (Not that you would know it from the comics, really.) Special warning for all things that happen when two consenting adults fall in love.


_Summary:_

_Wherein Pietro and Crystal first fall in love._

_Warning for all the things that go along with adults falling in love._

_Notes:_

_Consider this an AU, if it pleases. I am not a fan of most canon history surrounding this poor doomed romance, and so I choose to ignore it, or as time allows, write the heck right over it. Just like the real authors._

_But the observed facts are as follows:_

_During a solo attempt to rescue his sister (who had been captured, like most females in comics at the time), Quicksilver was gravely injured doing battle with a Sentinel. The Inhuman dog Lockjaw, sensing Pietro's distress, teleported to where he lay dying, and Crystal brought him home with them to Attilan for healing. (Attilan at the time was located, I believe, in the Himalayans. Or on the moon, possibly. But I used the Himalayans, because: fanfiction.) _

_Disclaimer: _

_Follows a work of fanfiction intended for entertainment purposes only, the creation and publication of which earns its author no monetary profit. All recognizable characters and referenced canonical events are property of Marvel Comics Incorporated. Or Disney, whatever. Or Fox. I absolutely cannot keep track._

* * *

><p><strong>THE PRINCESS AND THE TRAVELER<strong>

* * *

><p>She brought the fresh bouquet of flowers collected from that morning's walk to an eloquent vase on a chest of drawers, taking care to arrange each stem and bloom just so. Finished and turning, the Healer Laia eyed her knowingly. They were friends, had been since youth, and though not being of royal blood, her revered occupation earned her an elevated status among the First Family. "Majesty," said Laia, bowing her head, "welcome back. Again."<p>

Despite a flush rising to her cheeks, Crystal lifted her chin in a princessly fashion that acknowledged no indiscretion. "Thank you – and for your continued service."

Motion from the bed at Laia's side attracted both their attention. The stranger shifted in a sudden fit passing as quickly – perhaps in reaction to dreaming, or simply in pain.

Formalities abandoned, Crystal made her place on the opposite bedside where Laia had arranged a chair to wait for her. "How is he today?"

"Unchanged, Majesty. The road will be long for him, I fear," hovering a hand over his eyes cinched shut, his features untwisted momentarily, and a labored breath staggered free from ravaged lungs, "and not pleasant." Laia could do only so much to ease the suffering, and better than her peers – other Healers had even greater difficulty connecting to his alien mind.

"He did awake yesterday briefly, you know," said Crystal, recalling it as though a fairytale – how his gaze had affixed upon her like the reflection of winter sky in the mirror of a lake, sending chills through her body. "He tried to speak, but… well, it seemed so difficult."

"Yes," Laia revived that knowing look, eliciting another blush from the Princess, "so you have mentioned. But remind me once more, the color of his amazing eyes?"

"Oh, stop it."

"Your Highness stops it."

Just as during the days before, they remained together for the session, Crystal in support of Laia through her delicate and difficult task, to contain the pain while urging the body to heal, without stimulating more trauma or strain unbearable – a tedious and strenuous process, leaving healer as exhausted as patient.

Two long hours having passed, she sat back. "That… must be enough, for today. Forgive me, I am spent."

"There's nothing to forgive, you've worked tirelessly all week. Here, drink this," Crystal poured an elixir from a carafe on the tableside, "and go rest yourself."

"Jaquen should be here soon to relieve me."

"That's quite all right. I'll stay until he arrives," helping her friend to stand, the Princess smiled, "but I'm sure you had no doubt that I would."

Once she had gone, Crystal assumed Laia's place on the bench closer to where the stranger lay. He always seemed to rest more soundly after treatment, in contrast to nighttime which was the worst by far, as though with darkness descended a deeper agony unrelenting. If sleep eluded her and she visited before dawn, she would find the Healers beside themselves, unable to assuage his torment.

Crystal spread cloth soaked in a cool bath infused of herbal tinctures across his brow, and with another, dabbed sweat from his neck, careful to avoid the collarbone that had been broken, still bruised a deep purple and swollen stiff.

"wanda"

His voice so small and breathless could have been an echo from another room. She leaned in closer at once. "Crystal. My name is Crystal. Do you remember me?"

"Wanda…" his effort to swallow only made a rough noise, "m- sister..."

"It's all right. Um, Wanda is safe. I promise."

He drifted away again into a fevered sleep alternating between peaks of hurt beyond sight and valleys of unnerving stillness. Watching over him, Crystal dared to cradle the hand of this man, who through such anguish, thought only of another – and prayed that her promise were true.

* * *

><p>"Our guest has a sibling."<p>

Her sister the Queen raised an elegant brow in interest.

Chin held high, Crystal proceeded along one step ahead of her sibling (for a change) to elaborate, "Her name is Wanda."

Medusa made a nod that turned sideways, tendrils of flame-red hair uncoiling like curious serpents stirred from rest. "How did you come to learn this?"

Crystal took to gazing out the ornate windows that reached floor to ceiling across the grand foyer. "Well, I have been… making myself available, to visit. I feel a sense of responsibility, you know, being the one to find him in such a state. He would surely have died without our help, if I had not brought him back with me."

"Surely – and we are glad to assist. But I am intrigued if he has spoken to you, for the Healers did not inform me he had regained consciousness."

"Oh, no, it was just very brief – and we were alone together." She bit her lip, too late.

Stood the Queen, and dragging a gown that could clothe a children's chorus with its train alone, joined her sister the Princess by the window of her deliberate fixation. "You referred to him as 'our guest'." He had been called only 'the stranger' before that morning.

"Yes. Well… isn't he?"

"He is – and an outsider also, completely unknown to us. Little sister, until we learn his origins, and the nature of the circumstances under which you found him, we would be prudent to have caution." Fond but astute, the Queen turned to regard her sibling. "Feed your sweet heart's desire, Crystal, to do kindness unto this stranger and see him well. Yet remember to protect yourself, in all ways. Promise me that much, and I would not insist that you observe formal decorum for a Princess of this Royal House by keeping an escort in your service during these… visits."

"I promise."

* * *

><p>"What do you think his name is?" Crystal folded clean linens absentmindedly by the foot of the bed, her gaze busy with its daily search of the visitor's face as though answers might have manifested there overnight.<p>

"I still have no idea, Majesty." Drying her hands, Laia returned from the washbasin.

"I know, I'm just- it's a shame you cannot glean anything from connecting with his mind."

Along with her abilities as a Healer came a degree of psychic aptitude, which usually -combined with medicine- served to still the mind and ease the pain of those under her care. But the visitor seemed inexplicably immune to both manner of intervention, a sentence of solitude and suffering – and for his otherwise accomplished physician, of failure.

"A shame for us both, without doubt. I have never touched a mind so… unreachable."

Crystal blinked herself out of some daydream. "Why am I bothering to fold these?"

Laia smiled. "I wondered that myself, Majesty. Jaquen should be here any moment to help change bedding and redress his wounds."

Crystal's searching gaze found a new interest in the direction of the door, as she chewed a bottom lip. "Is it still gruesome?"

"Less so than when last you saw, but don't fret. You could return afterwards."

Crystal did not have a stomach for the sight of gore. She had tried to remain present times before, when the healers changed the visitor's dressings, but almost fainted once, catching clear view of the worst of the damage. Her First Aid training at the Baxter Building was one of the hardest ordeals to memory, all the videos they made her watch.

"That's… probably best. See you soon."

She returned before noon, a fresh bouquet of flowers in hand and greeted at the door by her friend smiling wide, her look one of final recompense after long hard labor.

"We just sent for your sister the Queen."

Clutching the flowers to her breast, it felt as though a flock of butterflies had been set loose within her. "He's awake?"

If possible, Laia's smile broadened. "His name is Pietro – and he asked for your Majesty."

* * *

><p>The room and those within it lit up when she entered, a testament of their love for her; her gown all the colors of a sunflower so elegant for its simplicity, and flowing hair like a fountain of honey. Half hidden at first behind a bouquet she held under her nose to savor, she walked forward as if on the aisle of a wedding procession, and lowering those wildflowers some the same sky-blue as her eyes, revealed a smile bright and tender as a newborn star.<p>

Taking this in from the bed where he lay helpless and stupid, Pietro literally suspected he was on the verge of having another asthmatic attack (as had happened before she arrived), but managed to say, "I know you," and felt rather accomplished for it.

She assumed her place by his bedside, all serenity and care, the culmination of a conglomerate of every vague memory he had of her since coming to…. wherever they were.

"You do?" she asked, still smiling. He was a native of some modern earth culture, after all, or presumably so – and had likely seen her in the news on television.

"Y- ngh… yes- rescued me," he took a minute less than he needed to muster, "You are my angel."

Delighted giggles from the vicinity of nearby onlookers were not specifically identified. Crystal took a minute longer than she needed, gaining composure along with more color to her cheeks. "I am Princess Crystalia Amaquelin. Be welcome, Pietro, as a guest of this household, that of the Royal Family in Attilan, ancestral homeland of the Inhumans."

Attempting to nod, Pietro promptly passed out, returned at once to a lonely existence of pain and darkness.

"Well, that was…. abrupt."

Laia sighed. "They say the first time tends to be so, Majesty."

This time the giggles originated from none other than her Highness. "Dear friend, I cannot take you anywhere."

* * *

><p>The next day, royal guards stood on either side of the doorway, easily recognized even at distance as the Queen's own protectorate. They saluted their Princess as she approached. Passing them to enter, Crystal found her sister alone inside, seated beside the visitor's bed.<p>

"Crystal," said the Queen without looking. "Good morning."

"Medusa." Crystal assumed the other position on the bench opposite, in no hurry, and to further demonstrate for the Queen her dedication to personal guardedness, she said simply, "Hello, stranger."

He lay awake on the bed now semi-raised, with more color in his completion than the days before, yet shades away from healthy, and still covered with the sheen of sweat that seemed permanently affixed in testimony to relentless turmoil. Yet weakly, he smiled to see her. "Hello, princess."

His voice stronger than when she had last heard, an accent was apparent, the way he stressed the H and trilled the R. It struck her that she had no clue where on earth Lockjaw had even materialized when they found him.

"I take my leave for now," spoke the Queen, "Pietro, thank you for entertaining my curiosities. Please rest yourself and be in peace – I will summon the Healers to see to your comfort. We shall speak again soon."

After the door had sealed shut, Crystal went about preparing a tincture soak. "So you have met my sister-Queen. She probably mentioned our relation." He nodded that she had. "Was she… bearable?"

"Not at all."

Crystal could not help but halt her task in shock, both hands frozen mid-air.

Pietro continued, "She was exceedingly cordial. As you have been."

"Oh," laughing for relief, she placed a dampened cloth over his brow, turning to prepare another. "Good. Her moods can be… well, she has such great responsibility."

"I-" suddenly he seized with a sharp breath that did not release for a moment. Even once his features relaxed, it took longer still before his exposed hand unclenched from the fist it had curled into. "I can- only imagine."

By then Crystal was half-standing. "I'll fetch a Healer."

"No. No. Stay," he did not reach for her, exactly, but she caught the motion of his hand dismissing her intentions with hers, "please."

"A-all right. Someone is on their way, Medusa sent for them." Knowing nothing else to do, she resumed dabbing his neck with a treated cloth, and avoiding the damaged collarbone, moved to the opposite shoulder.

"What is that?"

"Medicine. I don't know exactly. Herbs? It's a tincture that our Healers use."

"I like it, reminds-" he halted again, wracked with pain – again she began to stand, again they ended with clasped hands renewed. "Keep talking. Please. Makes me concentrate. It helps."

"I'm sorry, I… I don't understand."

He took several measured breaths before he could speak again – she could still hear an awful rattle, as though dry pebbles shook inside of him. "Imagine- all the discomfort that you endure through healing. Days and days, nonstop. Right?" More breaths, like a state of meditation that did not quite seem to work. "Imagine the whole duration- hyper condensed into waves of bad and worse. That's what it feels like. I think." He laughed, more like short gasps tinged with dark humor. "At least- I think that's- a fair approximation of how it is different for me."

"I'm so sorry."

"D- no. Just… keep talking, please. It helps to focus on something. I have to concentrate to understand you."

"You do?" He seemed to have fluent mastery of English, accent or no.

"Yes. No." He smiled through a grimace. "Actually, not like- usual. You are special."

Startled in that instant as the doors opened to reveal Jaquen and Laia's arrival, Crystal looked back to see that Pietro had fallen lifeless yet again, eyes closed but fluttering.

Their hands remained locked.

* * *

><p>"You summoned me?"<p>

Crystal found her sister the Queen in her personal chambers seated at a writing desk, her hair a vast net of braids and tendrils ever in motion, draped over either side like the elaborate canopy of a bed.

Medusa did not look up from her work, "How is our guest today?"

"I… haven't been in to visit yet. I was on my way when your paige hailed me."

"Well, I have some news that should interest you." Looking up at last, she gestured to the object of her study, several printouts and what appeared to be some photographs. "When we spoke, our guest told me where within his uniform I could locate an identification card. These last few days, I have been compiling all of the files that I could gain access to from the various databases of our-"

"Why?"

"Pardon?"

"Why go to the trouble? Do you have some reason to suspect him?"

"No, of course not." Medusa spread her hands as if to demonstrate a state of disarm. "He seemed quite genuine, and made no effort to avert my questioning. In fact," she fingered the documents, "this research was at his own invitation."

Crystal crossed her arms. "Then he sensed your distrust, and offered this as proof that he has nothing to hide."

Without making sound, Medusa sighed. "If he has nothing to hide, then there is no trespass. Do not be offended for his sake. And if I did have misgivings, my sister, you certainly would not be permitted to continue this… association."

In the back of her mind, Crystal wondered if her sister allowed it all the same just for the sake of having something to threaten withdrawal of. "Very well," said the Princess. "If that is all then, may I go?"

Medusa blinked. "It was my intention to share these findings with you. Take a seat if you like?" One tendril of hair outstretched towards a chair.

"No thank you."

"I am surprised after taking such a long interest in our guest, Crystal, that you would not wish to know more."

Crystal recognized the term 'long interest' as Medusa's way of pointing out how she considered the typical span of her sister's attention to be shorter than appropriate. "Actually, I wish to know everything that he would share with me – in his own words, and in due time."

Her Majesty raised a hand, maybe her variation of a shrug – or presenting the exit. "So be it."

Before turning to go, Crystal added, "But, if you come to learn anything of his sister's whereabouts, please do tell me. I know he worries for her terribly." She recalled the last sleepless night when she visited, how he called out Wanda's name in dreaming, amid a string of words in a strange language like none Crystal had ever heard.

Medusa smiled. "Give Pietro the Queen's regards – and assure him that his twin sister is safe and sound among her companions in America."

* * *

><p>There came a turning point.<p>

One day, the stranger revived from a final spell of fevered semi-consciousness, having responded more favorably than ever during Laia's session that left healer more depleted than patient for the first time.

He took a full breath almost pain-free that hitched very little on exhale, and actually stretched -timid and small- before regarding his company with a keen alertness that was altogether something unseen before.

Crystal stood beside her friend, a hand upon Laia's shoulder that trembled from exertion, her own eyes wide after witnessing the obvious change in their collaboration – the difference between fireflies and fireworks.

"I'm hungry."

With a delayed snap of Crystal's fingers, someone out of sight scurried straightaway to fetch sustenance.

From then on, eating solid foods, sleeping more soundly, the healing treatments continuing and better received, Pietro put one resolute foot after the other on the road to recovery – and at his side every step of the way, Crystal.

It was an imperfect day, the first that he joined her for the morning's walk to collect wildflowers. It just seemed to be tradition, by then.

Clouds conspiring overhead and birds squawking obnoxious at the brewing storm, they scavenged in a field of tall grasses and spatters of color. With careful selection, Crystal always crafted each of her bouquets differently, day after day. In contribution to her art-making, Pietro hunted for a particular tall spindly wisp of stalk that bore atop one single white flower like a prize jewel, and from a separate plant, broad flat leaves with a fuzzy appearance, like a long eared rabbit turned grey after a happy life of frolicking and baby-making. Crystal had her own agenda for which blossoms to collect, but would not share specifics, pretending to believe he would steal her master plan. Such a spirit of play that she inspired, contagiously therapeutic and adorable.

"What do you use these fellows for?"

Crystal eyed the resting herd that he had indicated – a few stragglers wandered nearer by, snuffling for tasty greens and regarding the bipeds with keyhole eyes as their jaws sawed lazily back and forth.

"Me? Nothing. They can be fun to watch though."

"No, not you personally-" Pietro laughed at the image of Attilan's beloved Princess tending sheep. Or goats. Whatever they were. "I meant, what are they bred for?"

"The Tahr?"

"Okay, yes. Do they get milked, or sheared… perhaps mixed with curry?"

At her thoughtful look with head tilted sideways, he half suspected she was about to ask why one would cross-breed a Tahr with curry. "Your accent changes," she said, deceptively perceptive, as usual. "Do you try to curtail it?"

They had been speaking regularly for over a week, their conversations longer and more in depth now that he could last through most days without napping. Yet still it surprised him time and again, the interest she took – a child's curiosity and a woman's wiles, focused sometimes unnervingly upon him.

"No. Yes." He counted the flowers he had managed to find, rarer than he anticipated. "Magneto, when he- part of our 'training' with him encompassed the ability not only to blend into crowds, but actively function under false identities as well. He said a Slavic accent screamed espionage. At that point I suppose it was a self-fulfilling prophesy."

Slowly, she transferred the hand holding her own flowers behind her back while her gaze narrowed. "Are you a spy, Pietro? If that _is_ your real name."

Forming a zero with his free hand, he held the invisible spyglass to one eye. "I will just be over here now, blending in with the locals." A Tahr with impeccable comedic timing bellowed.

Later on, with ingredients in hand and parted by several yards, the couple met eyes just as heavy rain made its inevitable dramatic entrance. A barn-like structure stood nearby, and Pietro -forward thinking by nature in these ways- had spotted it and kept it in mind as a potential refuge for them, should the weather turn bad.

Seeing his hand signal indicating the building, Crystal nodded her understanding and smiling, made her deft way darting around rocks and holes and sunflowers taller than she, disappearing within the shelter.

He arrived a bit after, keeping up as best as his weakened condition would allow.

"Slowpoke," said she at his entrance, wringing out her hair.

Panting, and hating it, he joined her where she leaned against a bale of straw. "You were closer – cheat."

"Excuses, excuses." But suddenly he faltered, stumbling headlong lifelessly for an instant. "Pietro!" In freight she lunged forward, landing on her knees to catch him mid-fall. He jolted back to alertness and straightened at once, grasping her with as much fervor in equal surprise and confusion. They locked eyes kneeling on the ground, braced hip to hip for balance and arms entwined, the whole of the universe abbreviated to the heat of their bodies and the pulse of their breaths against each other.

"Are you-"

"I-"

It began and ended and started all over again in a series of kisses both exploratory and insistent, alternatively an unbridled exposure of innocence and passion, all ravenous and satiated and unquenchable desire, foolish heedless invincible love.

They parted in such a way that felt never closer to another.

Panting, and loving it, Pietro bent to wrap into her embrace, head rested upon shoulder, an intoxicating journey of her smell and softness, utterly drunk on the newness of it all in the only sense that he had ever allowed himself to experience such a release from control, from guardedness and propriety.

Crystal drove her fingers through his hair, grown long and unfettered these last weeks; she could tell it was so unlike him. And she knew he was inexperienced in this way, of hearts and bodies merged in pleasures and promises, a stallion kept stalled too long at its prime that once mounted, anything could happen, a future wild and free just beyond the horizon on a hunch and a vow.

"I love you," they spoke in one voice, and there together waited out the storm.

* * *

><p>Not for nothing were such occasions renowned as awkward.<p>

It had been purported as just a casual family dinner, which would be daunting enough considering that Crystal's relatives comprised the Royal House of Attilan.

But assuredly it was the proper thing to do, even if a palace guardsman had not come upon them one evening as they sat together on a bridge late after sunset, hand in hand and mouth to mouth. Of course they had merely been talking, at first, but per usual, things tended to escalate between them.

"Well, that does it," Crystal had said with a sigh, as the sentinel went along his way without a word or second glance. "My sister the Queen will know before sunrise."

"What will she know?" Pietro had asked, suddenly beset by a perpetual outsider's lifetime of insecurities. She would dismiss it as a fling, pretend it never happened, insist that they lie or keep secret, send him away or never visit again.

"That we're in love, silly!" Smiling, Crystal relaxed backwards against his embrace to gaze out upon the water glittering under moonlight. "I should apologize that you will have to meet the rest of my family now. Lucky that you were spared this long, really."

"Ah. So they are… that bad?"

Still smiling with eyes closed, "No. Well. You'll see."

For the most part, the members of the Royal Family present at dinner behaved in a pretended blend of civility and political correctness. At least Medusa the Queen extended a genuine interest towards Pietro, speaking volumes not just for her own grace, but also for the love and respect of her sister.

They convened to dine not in the main grand hall, but a more secluded chamber that Pietro was informed stood nearer to the King and Queen's private residence. Nonetheless a grand hall in its own right.

Their talk revolved mostly around Inhuman history and societal issues, of which Pietro was already familiar, having studied the Avengers' knowledge banks extensively. Medusa clearly had done her homework likewise, and broached some specific topics regarding his experiences on that team.

All the while sat the King at table's head, utterly silent, aware but remote, seeing all and watching none. He spoke only through his wife Medusa, communicating his words to her telepathically. Aside from a greeting to family and guest at the onset, he bade her say nothing more on his behalf.

At the end when King and Queen rose to depart, Medusa said, "Your King thanks you for your company this evening, and wishes all a sound night." Then they went in separate directions without pause, he disappearing beyond the surrounding shadows and Medusa coming to the table's center. "Pietro, walk with me," gentle as a question, but without asking.

The Queen led him outside to an expansive garden aglow with solar lamplight, where over hands clasped at her center she scanned the black outline of the Himalayan peaks on the horizon.

"I apologize for my indiscretion at the table earlier. When I inquired as to the whereabouts of the rest of your family, I did not know they had perished."

So rarely struck speechless, Pietro had struggled to form a response at the time of her asking. Explaining the brutal murder of one's family and friends did not seem to be the stuff of casual dinner conversation surrounded by strangers – and it came utterly unexpected. Crystal had swooped to his rescue, offering plainly, "They've passed on," as she squeezed his hand on the table, a sign of comfort and intimacy that all could see and none overlooked.

He told Medusa, "No apology necessary. If you elected to skip the uglier chapters in my file, I would be the last to blame you."

Monotone, she recited, "Place of birth: Transia, Eastern Europe. Year: Unknown. Relatives: Maximoff, Wanda – twin sister. Hands: two. Fingers: ten." Then in her natural voice, "Most of your file was that riveting to read. But it held no chapter uglier than that detailing your tenure in Magneto's terrorist Brotherhood, which you have renounced." She faced him to offer a sad smile. "I am deeply sorry for your loss. Family is very important to our people and culture."

"It- yes." He cleared his throat that hitched. Family meant everything to the _Roma_ as well. "Thank you."

"My sister taught me that some things are best learned in due time – so please just know that when such a time comes as you would bear to reveal it, I welcome the chance to know more."

He searched her face as her eyes searched his, a contest of quick study. "Medusa. I am the fastest man alive – in all ways but this. A lifetime bereft of most basic securities has not conditioned me to trust easily. So while I do appreciate the gesture and by no fault of your own, if it is a heart to heart that you are waiting for, I should warn you that it may be a long time coming."

"Then I suppose it is fortunate that you intend to stay."

His mind raced. Had he somehow overlooked a footnote in the Avengers' database that explained all Inhumans possess inherent psychic abilities?

Medusa elaborated needlessly, "For you do hope to wed my sister, and I must presume, to join this family and remain."

He swallowed. "I- yes. I would call that my heart's most fervent hope."

The Queen redirected her probing gaze upon the skip stone path weaving through rose bushes into the darkness beyond. "My sister is…" the sentence snagged upon a thorn, and changed direction, "she is quite smitten with you."

He knew what it meant to love selflessly, to dedicate his life to the mutual needs and benefit of a family unit, even one that numbered only two orphaned siblings. But he had never been _in_ love. Which meant Crystal must be The One. "And I with her. Like never before." Like a dream come to life, like a true destiny unveiled, like a thousand turtledoves released from his suddenly sappy heart and a thousand other absurd sentiments he would die before articulating.

"Very well. You have the King's approval, in effect – nonetheless it would be proper to request an audience with him personally." Suddenly relaxed, she smiled, "Later, of course. Go now in peace and take rest. It has been a long day, and you do not yet have back your full strength. Lilly will see you to your chamber from here. Good night, Pietro."

Seemingly from out of nowhere, the Queen's paige Lilly appeared, ready to lead the way.

Pietro turned from the top of the stairs, looking back to see Medusa remained like a living statue among marble figures, unmoving save for her hair, twirling among itself same as the vines that enveloped the trellis that crested her.

"Do I have the Queen's approval?"

She humored him with a sidelong glance, a twinkle in her eye and what in better light might have been a teasing grin. "If it pleases our Princess."

* * *

><p>"What is a Roma?"<p>

"_The_ Roma, plural. And certainly not what you see on television."

Crystal took pause from her stitching to think. "Then I probably never saw one. Anyway, go on."

"They are an ethnicity nomadic by nature, who it is said originated from India over a thousand years ago and have since migrated the entire world over." He sighed. "You probably know the term gypsy?"

"Oh, yes of course."

"One and the same."

"Why 'they'?"

Pietro looked over from where he rested outstretched on the windowsill that if not designed for just such an activity, should have been. In a nearby chair, Crystal was focused again on her needlepoint. "What?"

She clarified, "You said 'they'. But aren't you one of them? So it should be 'we'."

"Ah. Yes. Anyway. Wanda and I were born in Eastern Europe to this family of travelers, and after- um, after being separated as we were, made our way alone for many years. That's when Magneto came along, and the rest you know already."

She continued working until a pout overcame her. "That's just so sad."

"Not really. I mean, circumstantially tragic, of course – but we always had each other. I can find no sadness in that."

"You never really told me how your family died."

Unthinking, he had retreated to the comfort of solace, surveying the landscape beyond the window – great yawning valleys and vast rolling hills and impossible mountain heights that he feared he might never again… no. All wounds heal in time.

"Pietro – did you hear me?"

"Sorry." He came back to the palace and its Princess who had captured his heart. "What?"

She chewed her bottom lip in such a way that acted as a matchstick, striking within him the urge to kiss her, however non sequitur a thought process that may be. Funny thing, love. "You don't want to talk about it. I understand."

"There is little to talk about. That was my whole point. Our childhood was… well, brief, but uneventful enough. Then the years we traveled alone -before Magneto acquired us- just became a daily task of surviving. I wanted to explain so that you would not mistake the absence of robust historicals for the intentional concealment of something that does not exist."

She nodded, frowning towards her task at hand, if not because of it.

"And the truth is…" he swung his legs around to sit facing her, "well, to be honest, I know there are many things that I simply cannot recall. It's the same for Wanda. Sometimes between us, we can put different pieces of the same picture together – or so it seems. But they would be only pictures, like stills from a movie shuffled out of order."

Now watching him, she rested the canvas in her lap. He wore the faraway look that overcame him more and more often, as though it were a muscle regaining its strength day by day like any other. She knew his mutant powers came in and out now, like a switchboard short-circuiting; an apparent side effect after the severity of his wounds and the sheer amount of energy vested in healing. Sometimes he missed sentences or entire conversations, mistaken for white noise, not realizing the instant when the world commenced as 'normal', which to the relatively distorted perceptions of a speedster required concentrated effort to decipher.

Careful not to pry, knowing how that vexed him, she said, "If you wish – it's possible that Laia, or another of our Healers, could help to mend these… pieces."

"No. No." He seemed to repress a shudder. "What I glean from the nightmares is enough – I do not want such things in my waking mind. Leastwise in someone else's." He went on, "But this, possibly- probably, is why I said 'they'. Would it not be strange, to associate with the cultural identity of a group of people who are but ghosts to me? I know them better from my dreams than from my memory – if either could be trusted."

Her own cultural identity lived, walked, and breathed all around her – and always had. "What does your heart tell you?"

He laughed with more appreciation than humor. Hers was an insight, brilliant in its simplicity, of a young soul through which timeless wisdom could channel unmolested. "To contact my sister. I love her, and I worry."

Crystal stood, at once overjoyed. "Then summon her! Let's do it now, together – oh, I would love to meet her. Will you ask her to come visit us here? Wait, we need permission first. I will speak with my sister the Queen right away."

Unable to contain his smile, he held out a hand to keep her from flittering away just yet. "Yes, I hoped you would join me. There is much to explain, how I came to survive, and to be here, and-" for a moment, he thought he might need to use the steroid inhaler, his lungs had seemed to be gradually constricting, "there was something else I thought we might share with her – if you would have it."

"Have what?"

On his way down to kneeling before her, he patted his pocket to make sure he remembered to carry the medicine. Just in case. "My hand in marriage. Crystalia – will you be my cherished wife?"

"Oh! _Oh_, my- Pietro, I… um, are you all right?"

"Fine," he drew from the inhaler after all, less than a precaution by that point, and wheezed, "take your time to decide, of course."

"Yes! Yes, oh yes."

"Thank God," he collected her into his arms as he stood. "I have an audience with the King tomorrow to ask his blessing, and I was quite unsure what else to talk about if this had gone differently." So embraced and giddy for the future, they covered each other in silly kisses and giggles. "With the good news, I promise to bring you a bouquet of the kingdom's finest wildflowers. Or of those within arm's reach on my way back from the citadel. It's a long way back."

Her stomach sank. "Or for bad news?" Never before had there been a union between Inhuman and human, mutant or otherwise. In love perhaps all things were possible, but in politics nothing was for certain.

"Then I will bring spoons, and we tunnel our way out!"

She laughed against his shoulder as he spun her in a circle.

* * *

><p>"Enter," she beckoned towards the door. It opened slowly and barely, a strange and ominous thing; she could tell immediately this was someone unfamiliar. "Who's there?" She reached for a robe to cover the underdress that she wore.<p>

Nothing but a bouquet of flowers peeked out from the small crack between door and frame, then jiggled cheerfully.

Laughing into the palm of her hand, she darted forward, reaching beyond to pull her visitor by the wrist into the privacy of her room and swiftly closing the door behind. Pietro stumbled through with a surprised yelp, laughing too as he came to crash land on a chaise by the foot of her bed.

Crystal spoke in a hushed tone more rife with mirth than caution, "Pietro! How did you know where to find my quarters?"

"Homing pigeons. I keep telling you; I have many talents. _Ow_, oh. Graceful entrances not among them." Straightening out to sit upright, he made cosmetic corrections to the bouquet before looking up to offer the gift, and when he did, froze with a gasp.

All humor abandoned, Crystal went to her knees before him. "Are you all right?"

"I… Crystalia-" he looked away, such a deep flush suddenly upon his face that she thought he must becoming ill. "You are not dressed, why did you call me in?"

"Well… I did think you were my handmaiden, but- "she eyed herself, adorned in pink silk from a sweetheart neckline to the knees. Not indecent in and of itself, although the chilly morning…. Blushing. He was actually blushing. "Oh, so I am such a sore sight to behold, hmm?"

Smiling with eyes closed, he shook his head at her jest, and advanced the bouquet until she took it.

"_Tck_ – they're beautiful, thank you. I'm so happy. Pietro. Kiss me."

Leaning forward, he obliged, their connection at first chaste before deepening. At some point, the bouquet hit the ground with a rustle that went unnoticed. The marble floor harsh on her knees, Crystal ascended to what she deemed a more comfortable position: straddling the lap of her betrothed.

As she settled in this way, Pietro began to speak – she interrupted, "I love you. Hold me." And for a while the Princess had her wish plus some. From that position, they could savor the closeness of their bodies while feasting on each other's lips, with both hands free to dabble in other adventures.

Her fingers through his hair, she guided Pietro's hungry kisses to the length of her neck, which he took to readily. Her body making an arch in response, the straps of her shift slipped off of each shoulder, the light fabric tumbling away to bare her breasts, each peaked hard in the brisk air.

A hissed intake of breath indicated when Pietro noticed her state of undress. Gingerly, he returned the garment to its proper place, kissing each shoulder in turn.

"But- Pietro, I want… I want this," she took hold of his hands, but he would not release the straps.

"Crystalia, darling, you must trust me when I say that I have never wanted anything more. But we are unwed, and you are a proper lady of royalty no less. You cannot give me… everything. Not yet."

"It's not _giving_ – you can't take something away that is a part of me. What I want is to share myself with you," she shimmied to bring their lower halves closer still, his interest a palpable sum of hardness against the apex of her center, "in a special way."

His breathing grown rapid, he let his head fall back and indulged for just a moment in the sensation of their most sacred and secret places touching in a most forbidden and delicious way. Then for just another moment longer. His words crawled out of a groan, "This is bad. We have already gone too far."

She could not tell if he joked. "Why?"

"Because you are starting to make a great deal of sense."

"Why is it _bad_, silly?"

"Crys- oh, God- I cannot possibly have a conversation about not doing this while you are doing that."

"Then let's stop talking." She claimed his mouth, and to her surprise, found that his tongue trailed hers in synch with the motion of her hips. If not for his semi-fragile state, she might have pinned him down right there. When they next broke for air, she did cease her movement to speak, "Pietro. Our customs differ little in such matters, and you know that I respect tradition. But we are in love and betrothed, and I just want- isn't there any… middle ground?"

"Middle ground." There was none to his knowledge. There was marriage wherein most things were allowed and any others were unspoken of, there was courtship which was really just a sexless stage of preparation before marriage, and there was going completely around the bush to do exactly what they were in the middle of. Which turned out to be ridiculously fun – go figure. "I… do not know."

"Can't we decide for ourselves then? Be 'masters of our fate', like the poem you read to me?" Again she kissed him, soft, sweet, imploring.

Any temptation, like torture, comes with a breaking point – a weary traveler at its door, Pietro relented, not sorry at all. "Then come here, little princess, before we both go insane." She let him maneuver her to lie on the chaise beside him, one leg tucked into the nook between his body and the furniture, the other free to roam along his side, and to control the degree of her exposure to him.

Anticipating such limits that he might impose to appease his lingering reservations, she said, "But this stays on," clutching the hem of her dress, though inching it upwards just to the hips so that he could behold her beauty.

Such a little gesture, to leave only a thin layer of silk wrapping her body as it writhed and heaved from within, but modesty can be selectively relative. "My angel," as Pietro tested the slick swell of her desire, she stretched to meet his touch, a wordless invitation to explore more thoroughly, perhaps less ignorant than her innocence let on, "you are compromised."

"Mmm – you do this to me," she laughed breathlessly, always loving the way he used his words, artful and intended, now mirrored in the way he used his fingers, finding perfect rhythm in response to the undulations and moans that escaped her, "Yes- my love- don't stop!"

It felt like forever before he did. In the closing moments of her thrall, one of her hands found his and they clasped palm to palm, fingers interlocked. The other she braced against his shoulder, stabilizing herself during the final devastating spasms of passion's insurmountable height that slowly passing, left her panting and limp.

Once her wits returned, she sat up to meet him in renewed kisses, playfully teasing. "Pietro, let me now… come here, let me-"

Using as few words as he expected to be able to string together, lightheaded as though traipsing a waking dream, he meant to build a case for selfless demurral, but as she devoured his neck from ear to clavicle, he heard his own voice only repeating her name.

She had freed his manhood from its constraints of clothing, unnoticed, until her kisses proceeded lower than any other exposed flesh.

"No!" softer, "no, darling," and bringing her hand up to kiss, "touch only, this time- please, touch me."

She had already begun, half of a bottom lip twisted shyly between her teeth. "Will you guide me, so I know?"

It seemed she hardly needed his advice – though he thought of one trick. Laying a hand over hers, he removed her grip, kissing away the confused pout that it brought to her pretty face – but next she moaned into his mouth as he brought their joined hands between her legs. His own fingers' length surpassed the span of her palm, massaging together there for a moment. Then she observed bewildered only at first as he renewed her same motion as before. Hand over hand now polished by her own sap, they massaged his erection until it teared.

Leaving her to improvise with his member, Pietro resumed another expedition into her own depths, and with opposite hands either folded behind each other's necks or bringing one another closer and surer towards desperate release, they shared one final kiss, wild and rough and breaking away into cries of joyous triumph, a song without words that concluded in the universal language of laughter.

The rest of the world a distant memory that spun unheeded around them, they held fast, shuddering and resplendent and chanting, "I love you, I love you," the simplest of pure truths, and all they would ever need.

* * *

><p><em>~epilogue~<em>

* * *

><p>Chained in a tower or a basement or wherever naive royalty keeps vicious lunatics instead of killing them, Maximus rolled on the floor like madmen are wont to do, alternatively biting his fingers to the point of bleeding and suckling at the ripe bead. He pretended it was the pink nub between Crystal's tight thighs, he pretended it was his mother's milking tit, he pretended to be out of this prison and king of the whole stupid world.<p>

He had watched through his mind's eye this newcomer, this last class citizen of nowhere, traipse into his kingdom into **His. Kingdom.** like he belongs here or anywhere and fool everyone into believing he was handsome and noble and damaged but trying real hard and just finger bang the Queen's own sister to heavenly bliss and back again. Worse still, she actually loved him. Crystal actually LOVED this gypsy tramp and she didn't even know what those words meant. And he hated her for it! He hated her already but now he h-a-t-e-d her more.

And Pietro. Please. Where the hell did this guy even come from? From underneath a Sentinel, yes, but seriously. An 'outsider among outsiders', gee like that ever works out, trying to sidle on in with the big unhappy dysfunctional family he never had because his parents are dead boo-fucking-hoo – what a cliché, what a shtick, what star-crossed lovers bullshit. Maximus puked a little in his mouth and spat.

He pulled his dick out of his pants and started working it, making himself a promise, a cool game to play.

Some of the pieces were already in place. Where there's a will there's a way, and Maximus had a way with peoples' wills. Which is how he got his magic potion (that's being facetious – it's actually a type of poison) into the Healers' tinctures and even the convenient steroid inhaler for booster doses. Since it failed to kill Pietro outright, which would have been fine too, by design it would rest dormant and untraceable – but once activated, it corrupts mental faculties, leaving the victim gloriously susceptible to Maximus' control and fun for the whole family commences yaaaaay!

Aw that's right, so close, almost show time. He would ruin them. He would pollute everything they loved within each other and destroy everything they managed to build together. He would delight in feeding them to their own demons and celebrate to watch them shitted out as each other's worst fears incarnate.

True Love Be Damned With Smelly Cum On Its Face

As ever alone with his thoughts, Maximus giggled in the distance, eagerly awaiting the day that he would ensure these things came to pass.

* * *

><p><strong><em>~end~<em>**


End file.
